Hermione's Indecent Proposal
by kci47
Summary: A silly humor/romance fic that sprung out of an Indecent Proposal challenge. Hermione has a plan, and Snape must go along. Post-DH AU in that Ron isn't with Hermione and Snape is still alive, but otherwise compliant. Includes cake!Voldemort.
1. The Proposal

Author's Note: I own nothing you recognize. And if I were making money off this, I'd be living in Hogwarts-by-the-Sea in the Caribbean.

"I have a proposal for you," Hermione said as she approached his desk one afternoon. "And I think it will solve both our problems."

Snape kept his eyes on the vials of potions in front of him. "Well, it is certainly unfortunate that you do not possess the irritating bluntness characteristic of Gryffindor House, or else you would be able to simply demand that I do as you say," he mumbled sarcastically.

He heard her sigh and knew from experience that she had crossed her arms in agitation. "_Why_ people don't just fall in line, I'll never know…" he heard her say quietly to herself. He suppressed a smile.

She cleared her throat, and her syrupy tone was entirely too false. Hermione had never been good at subtle persuasion. "Professor Snape. You are by far the most intellectually stimulating professor I have ever had the pleasure of learning from, and I was hoping that you might do me a very great favor."

This time he looked up, and she batted her eyelashes at him in what she likely thought was an engaging manner. "Miss Granger, I must bemoan your lack of prior research as to your subject matter – for surely you are not harboring the impression that I am subject to flattery or in the habit of bestowing favors upon anyone." This time he did smile, because Hermione's innocent expression gave way to a thoroughly frustrated pout.

"Fine. I will be short and to the point," she snapped.

"That will be a novel experience," she heard him whisper. Hermione ignored this and continued.

"As I was _saying_, you and I are both in a predicament, to which I believe I have found a mutually satisfying solution." She sounded like she was giving a presentation on the properties of murtlap essence. She harrumped, and he looked up again.

"Do go on," he drawled. "I am most intrigued." His tone of voice suggested otherwise.

"I require a date to the upcoming celebration, someone who will not bore me silly or follow me around like a lovesick nargle. You require a public appearance to squash any lingering rumors about your role in the war." Hermione quirked one eyebrow as she delivered her strongest argument: "And to be seen with me would certainly do that, and more." She waited for his response.

Snape narrowed his eyes and studied her. It had only been a few weeks since the death of Voldemort, and the effects of the war were still evident. Hermione's cheeks were slightly sunken, and her petite frame was skeletally thin from months of malnutrition and fear. The scars from her run-in with Bellatrix glimmered on her neck, and Snape knew that there were emotional scars that were worse still. Madam Pomfrey had asked him whether there was a potion that could help with the after-effects of the Cruciatus curse, as Hermione had been too proud to ask him herself. And yet, she stood before him, her shoulders squared and her eyes daring him to deny her. If there had been any doubt that Hermione Granger was a warrior before, her stubborn perseverance throughout the final battle and the rebuilding had removed all trace of it. It was one of the many reasons he admired her so – even if it was making her bloody unbearable to be around. The girl refused to take no for an answer.

"If I were to agree – and mind you, I am not agreeing to this foolhardy scheme – what benefit would there be for either of us? You could attend The-Boy-Who-Lived-To-Be-Eighteen's birthday celebration with a niffler and Dolores Umbridge, and no one would dare speak against you. My name has already been cleared by the Wizengamot and I have been pronounced a hero. Those who continue to doubt my sincerity do so out of spite. I have no desire to parade myself in front of the Wizarding community out of a misplaced sense of obligation, and I wonder why you feel you must do so as well?" Snape hoped that he could talk some sense into the girl before she badgered him for much longer.

Hermione stood quietly, looking at him with those deep brown eyes of hers. If he didn't know better, he'd think that she was practicing Legilimency – but she had proved as atrocious at the skill as Potter. He stiffened when she helped herself to a seat on the edge of his desk.

"Is it so unbelievable that I might like some company at Harry's birthday party?" she asked softly. "Is it so unbelievable that I'd like _your_ company?"

He looked away, thinking. Things had been different ever since she had led a team of Healers back to the Shrieking Shack for him. He had been most irritated – and embarrassed – when he had awoken a week later to find her curled in a chair next to his hospital bed, asleep and looking as though she needed a great deal of care herself. He had been fully unprepared for the rush of tenderness he had felt upon finding out that she had not left his side. Try though he might, his continued coldness towards her had not altered her determined friendliness. Even once he had become outright rude and belligerent, she refused to leave him in peace. He could not bring himself to try harder to push her away – she had, after all, more than likely saved his life.

It was for this reason that he now turned back to face her, and said in a resigned voice, "Very well, Miss Granger, perhaps you could enlighten me as to your expectations for the evening. Shall I wear my finest dress?"

Her lips quirked in amusement, and she said thoughtfully, "Hmm, I suppose your second-best dress would do. It's only a birthday party, after all."

Snape felt his lips curve into his second smile of the day, and admitted to himself that at least she was an entertaining companion. She was certainly the only person in existence who was able to make him smile – or the only person who cared to try. "Make no mistake, Miss Granger: this is no ordinary birthday party. This is the first organized celebration since the downfall of the Dark Lord, and it will only be followed by ever more grandiose celebrations as the anniversaries tick by. I daresay even Potter will get his fill of parties in his honor."

Hermione scowled at him. "You know, he dislikes the attention as much as you do," she said.

"I find that difficult to believe," he replied, grimacing.

"Whether you believe it or not, it is nonetheless true," she stated emphatically. "You can find out yourself because we'll be sharing his table at the party. Now then, if I interpreted your earlier statement about your attire correctly, you have agreed to accompany me?"

"Do I have another choice?" Snape asked. "Or will you insist on annoying me until I agree to your plans?" His put-upon tone was decidedly lacking in sincerity, and they both knew it.

"Oh, you always have a choice," she answered him softly. "For the rest of your life, Severus, you'll have a choice…at last." She looked at him with a sad smile on her face, and her use of his first name caused a strange sensation in his midsection.

"It's Professor Snape, and you have not answered my question regarding your expectations for the evening." He snapped at her to cover his momentary surprise at hearing his name on her lips, and he reminded himself that he should not have enjoyed it so much. He expected her to stiffen in indignation, but her smile grew wider and a mischievous glint entered her eyes. He became extremely wary.

"Yes, well, let's do discuss our…_expectations_," she drawled. "One: I expect you, _Professor__ Snape_, to accompany me to Harry's party. Two: I expect you to do so willingly and with a proper attitude – I will not tolerate skulking in shadowy corners. Three: I expect you to engage me in conversation throughout the evening, join me in any festivities which require accompaniment, and otherwise behave in the proper capacity – _as__ my__ date_." Hermione's triumphant smile dared him to contradict her, and he found that she was quite alluring when she was bossing him around. He also found that he was loath to deny her.

"Your…date, you say?" he asked slowly. "Will you, perchance, require me to hold your hand? Twirl you around the dance floor? Gaze into your eyes like a – what did you call it? – lovesick nargle? Maybe even…kiss you goodnight?" He studied her for a reaction as he spoke. He was trying to set her off-balance, upset her composure, convince her that her proposal was foolish in the extreme. But Hermione would not be beaten at her own game.

She stared back at him, seeming to debate how best to answer him. Finally, she said, "That would certainly be a welcome improvement from the way you generally treat me – as though I were still the insufferable eleven-year-old you wish you could have struck with a Silencing Charm." She stood from her perch on his desk, and said calmly, "The party is this Saturday at seven. I shall meet you in the entry hall at ten til. Oh, and please do not think to escape your commitment by actually wearing a dress. I shall not mind it in the least if you do, and you will only look like Neville's boggart come to life again." She strode towards the door, stopping only to call back: "By the way, _Professor_? You will call me Hermione and I shall call you Severus for the duration of the evening. And I doubt very highly that I shall refuse should you wish to hold my hand…or kiss me goodnight."

Snape allowed his head to smack his desk as he wondered when exactly he had lost control of their exchange. He suspected it had happened rather a long time ago, and he tried not to feel the tingle of excited anticipation for Saturday's event.


	2. The Arrival

Author's Note: I own nothing you recognize. And if I were making money off this, I'd be living in Hogwarts-by-the-Sea in the Caribbean. Chapter 1 was originally intended as a oneshot, but after popular demand and the demands of my own imagination, I am expanding the story. At least 3 more chapters in the works!

Hermione paused on her way to the entry hall. She was nearly twenty minutes early, and she did not want to seem overeager, for Snape would surely sneer at her. She had not bothered to smooth her hair, knowing that it would be out of control within minutes in the late July heat. She nervously checked off her mental preparation list: peppermint-scented breath, yes; empty beaded handbag of all textbooks and dark magic detectors, yes; apply cushioning charm to the soles of her high heels, yes; delicate silver jewelry about her neck, wrist and ears, yes; strengthen the charms holding her dress in place, yes.

Glancing down at the deep hunter green gown, Hermione nervously wondered if she had chosen something too fancy for the occasion. It was just Harry's birthday party…but then she remembered what Snape had said about it being the first organized celebration since Voldemort's death, and Hermione knew he was right – it would be attended by every witch and wizard in Britain, and they were all likely to be carried away by the joyousness of the occasion. The strapless emerald silk caressed her body every time she moved, and it complemented her coloring quite well. If she were being honest with herself (and she usually tried to be), she wanted to look stunning this evening. All eyes would be upon her, Harry and Ron; and Hermione did not want to appear the unfashionable bookworm for once. _Oh, __please, _whispered her brutually honest voice, _you __wanted __to __look __nice __for __him_. Hermione rolled her eyes, but she knew it was true – she wanted Snape to see her as a woman…an attractive woman. Giving herself a mental slap on the wrist, Hermione straightened and began to move towards the entry hall to meet Snape.

Suddenly, a figure appeared before her, and Hermione froze mid-step. And then she burst out laughing. She laughed so hard that tears began to run down her face and she couldn't catch her breath. Her chest hurt and even her cheeks began to ache from the laughter that racked her body. Slumping against the wall, Hermione managed to get a gulp of air – before she dissolved into fits of uncontrollable mirth again. She slid to the floor, clutching her sides, unable to stop. The figure merely stood there, staring at her solemnly, which only made her laugh harder, if such a thing were possible.

Eventually, Hermione pulled herself together and dared a peek up at the person standing in front of her. A few chuckles escaped, but she could at least breathe again.

"You should laugh more often. It is a beautiful sound," Snape said.

"Oh, um, thank you…there has not been much to laugh at, lately," she responded, still winded.

He nodded. "That is the reason for my…attire. I had hoped…to amuse you." The words were hesitant, uncertain.

Standing before her was none other than Professor Snape…dressed head to toe in Augusta Longbottom's signature outfit, complete with vulture-topped hat. It was, Hermione reflected, Neville's boggart _come __to __life._

"Well. You certainly did, at that." Hermione allowed herself another short fit of giggles before inhaling deeply. Studying him closely now, her brow furrowed slightly. "You know…I think you managed to recreate it _exactly_," she mused.

"Oh…yes. It hardly took more than one glare to…persuade…Mr. Longbottom to provide me with the memory of that particular day in Defense class," Snape drawled, and Hermione could only imagine Neville's nervousness at being asked to hand over an embarrassing memory to his most terrifying professor.

Another grin broke across Hermione's face as she recalled their conversation when she had asked him to accompany her tonight. "So…this is your finest dress, hm?"

"Why, yes," Snape replied, surprised. "I rather thought that was obvious." He slowly spun around, his arms outstretched, so that she could see the entire outfit. Hermione started to laugh again, and Snape slowly smiled at her. The expression was so unfamiliar on him – the transformation so breathtaking – that she fell silent in amazement. They stared at one another for several long moments, and Hermione felt herself begin to blush. "However, it is not my intention to arrive at The-Boy-Who-Lived-To-Be-A-Prat's party attired thusly. I have no desire to entertain the masses," he explained, and with a swish of his wand, he was outfitted once again in somber dress robes.

Hermione tilted her head and examined him: he was wearing his customary black robe, it was true, but it seemed less…billowy. And if she was not mistaken, he was wearing a shirt of deepest green underneath...but surely Severus Snape would never purposefully dress to match his date? She raised her gaze to ask him, and was startled to see his face unobstructed by his hair for the first time that she could remember. It was pulled back in a queue, and Hermione thought he looked quite…darkly seductive. She licked her lips, then realized that he was staring at her, attempting to determine if she was pleased with the subtle changes to his wardrobe. The idea that he had even considered it – had _cared_– suffused her with a tingling warmth.

Looking away to regain her composure, she remembered she was sitting on the floor. "I suppose I've probably gotten dust all over this dress," she lamented, starting to stand.

"Nothing we cannot fix, I am sure," Snape said, and he held out a hand for her. Startled, she grasped it without thinking and he pulled her to her feet. She was so shocked by the gesture that she had allowed herself to be hauled upward bonelessly, with the result that she had not stopped moving once she was upright and was now careening towards him with the momentum. Snape caught her by the shoulders, steadying her. Hermione was closer to him than she had ever been, and she did not wish to scare him off by making any sudden movements. She inhaled deeply and noted that he smelled of fresh parchment and…orange pomander?

But then he released her, and began to remove any traces of dust from her dress. Hermione only hoped that he did not accidentally remove the charm that was _holding __up _her dress. Satisfied that she was clean again, he asked her, "Shall we go, then?"

Hermione could only nod. His lips quirked ever so slightly before he turned and gestured her to lead the way. _You __mustn__'__t __act __like __a __foolish __schoolgirl!_ she chastised herself as they walked. _Tonight, __you __are __sophisticated, __elegant, __mature __Hermione __Granger_. She snorted at her internal lecture – it had hardly been elegant, the way she'd sunk to the floor in laughter earlier.

As they drew near the doors to the Great Hall, Hermione glanced up at her companion. He was scowling quite darkly. Giggling again, she said to him, "Cheer up! You look as though you are being Crucio'd, and I hardly want anyone to think that I am such a dismal date."

His lip curled up in a sneer. "I daresay I would rather be under the effects of the Cruciatus than forced to endure this gathering," he muttered.

"Oh, don't be silly! It's quite easy – look," and she plastered an appropriate smile on her face. "Now you try."

Snape's answering grimace was hardly an improvement from his scowl. Sighing, Hermione linked her arm with his and, ignoring the way he tensed in response, flung the door to the Hall open and towed him inside.

Note: Orange Pomander Spice is my absolute favorite scent from a bath & body store, ever. It's very enticing so that is what I chose to represent Snape.


	3. The Party

Author's Note: I own nothing you recognize. And if I were making money off this, I'd be living in Hogwarts-by-the-Sea in the Caribbean. Chapter 1 was originally intended as a oneshot, but after popular demand and the demands of my own imagination, I am expanding the story.

Snape leaned back in his chair, sipped at his Firewhisky gratefully, and surveyed the room before remembering that he did not have the obscuring curtain of hair which he was accustomed to hiding behind. His brief scan had, however, confirmed his suspicions that this gathering was overrun with Weasleys. He took a larger gulp of the Firewhisky. There was something about the exuberance of the redheaded family that put him on edge. Hermione seemed to experience no such reaction, however, as she was currently dancing with the eldest Weasley boy – Charlie, if memory served.

Hermione had been dancing nearly all evening, ever since the food had been cleared away and the band had started playing. Why a birthday party required a band, Snape had no idea. Most of the assembled witches and wizards seemed to be enjoying it, though. He supposed it was rather an important day in wizarding history, although he would never admit such a sentiment out loud. His eyes straying back to Hermione, he felt the nervous flutters in his stomach again, and tried to quell them with more Firewhisky. When she had first been approached to partner Dean Thomas, Hermione had glanced at him before responding. At his slight nod, she had agreed, and hopped up to join Dean on the dance floor. Before she'd left, however, she had uttered a phrase that struck fear into the heart of The Bravest Man They Knew: _"__You __shall __dance __with __me __before __the __night __is __out, __you __know.__" _Snape reached for his Firewhisky again, frowning when he noticed it was empty. Glaring at the partygoers at random, Snape wondered why the glasses had not been charmed to refill.

He knew how to dance, of course. It was just that no one had ever required it of him before. He would have refused her outright, but he had been so surprised when she had turned to him before answering Dean – as though his opinion mattered to her. And after he had nodded at her to enjoy herself, he was still puzzling over the strange flutterings under his ribcage when she had surprised him again by reminding him of one of her _expectations_ for the evening. There had been no time to respond before she'd turned and led Dean to the parquet floor, chatting animatedly all the while. He idly wondered what they were discussing when she suddenly laughed again, and he was struck anew by how it lit up her entire face. Dean smiled in return and Snape felt an automatic urge to deduct points from Gryffindor.

As it had turned out, Hermione was quite the entertaining dinner partner. She had flawlessly commanded the conversation all throughout the meal so that no one had been left out and talk did not lapse into uncomfortable silence. Even more amazingly, Snape had reluctantly found that he was enjoying himself in spite of the company at the table. Ron had given an impression of Hermione attempting to emulate Bellatrix Lestrange (_"__Good __morning!__"_) that had the entire table laughing. Then Harry had given an even more hilarious impression of Ron wearing the locket Horcrux and moping about. Snape was fairly certain that Ron had never composed "An Ode to Food", but Potter's rendition had been amusing, he had to admit. The meal had seemed to pass quickly with Hermione pulling the conversational strings, and before he knew it, their table had been engulfed in a spotlight while the largest cake Snape had ever seen was levitated onto the table in front of Harry.

Everyone had fallen silent, breaths held in anticipation. Harry was staring at the monstrosity, his face blank. Snape was certain this was someone's idea of a cruel joke – who had dared to bake such a concoction? He half rose from his seat, intending to find out, when Hermione had giggled and pushed a long, white instrument into Harry's hand. Looking down at it, Harry began to laugh – and immediately the crowd of onlookers joined in, relieved. Smiling widely, Harry pulled his arm back, and then dramatically loped off the evilly grinning head of cake-Voldemort with – was that a _basilisk __fang?_

Snape still did not know what was going on, but as soon as the severed head of the cake sailed into the air, the rest of the cake exploded into hundreds of cupcakes, each one zooming towards a different witch or wizard. The gathered partygoers cheered and began to meander back to their tables, cupcakes in hand. Snape looked down. One was insistently knocking against his own hand. He examined the cupcake closely. It appeared to be decorated with a small serpent, and a miniature silver sword was protruding from the top. Pulling it out, Snape noticed the end of the sword was actually a fork. He glanced up to see Hermione staring at him, a tentative grin on her face. He raised one eyebrow in question.

"Well, I thought it was rather comical," she said, shrugging at his continued stare. "Each of the cupcakes is decorated like a different Horcrux – see, mine is Hufflepuff's cup." She showed him and indeed, there was a tiny golden goblet atop her cupcake.

"Why is your fork a fang?" he asked her out of curiosity. Hermione blushed.

"Ah…that is what I used to destroy the cup," she answered softly. Snape knew he must look like a fool, for his mouth had fallen open and he was staring at her with wide eyes, but he was surprised.

"I thought that Potter had destroyed all the Horcruxes," he finally managed to say.

Hermione looked up at him. "Oh, no," she replied quickly. "No, Harry only destroyed one – well, two, if you count Voldemort." She began to tick them off on her fingers. "The diary of Tom Riddle was the first, and as you know, Harry stabbed it with a basilisk fang. Dumbledore destroyed the ring, Ron the locket, me the cup, Crabbe the diadem, Neville the snake, and Voldemort – well, he destroyed the piece in Harry. It was rather a…group effort, I suppose," she finished. Snape considered this new information. He hadn't realized just how much of a role Hermione and the Weasley had played in Potter's little adventure.

"It is my understanding that when threatened, Horcruxes will attack their would-be destroyer in a manner most likely to cease the assault," Snape said slowly. "The cup, did it – fight back?"

Considering him for a long moment, Hermione finally said softly, "Yes…it did." Turning her eyes to her cupcake, Snape thought that she dug in with rather more enthusiasm than was necessary. His admiration for the girl increased tenfold. It wasn't your average witch or wizard who could easily destroy a Horcrux, and Snape begrudgingly admitted that there was a great deal more backbone to Hermione Granger than he had thought.

Desiring to bring her out of her melancholy (really, her cupcake had not done anything to deserve the treatment it was getting), Snape cleared his throat to get the attention of their table companions before saying loudly, "Will any person at this table be overset by my atrocious manners if I were to forego the use of this fork? I would rather like to take a bite from the frosting serpent with my own teeth…to return the favor, as it were."

Everyone within hearing range froze and stared at Snape. He saw the concerned glance of Minerva McGonagall, who no doubt thought he had taken leave of his senses. Several people started to whisper, obviously convinced that Snape had sustained injuries more lasting than they realized. Catching Potter's eye, Snape condescended to give him a slight smile, and the boy broke into an answering grin, gesturing for Snape to do as he wished with the cupcake. Snape turned to look at Hermione, who was watching him with an expression of pure astonishment – which quickly turned to encouraging approval. Raising the cupcake to his mouth, he chomped the snake cleanly in two, quite forcefully, and hummed in approval at the flavor of the cake. Hermione began to laugh, and the spell was broken – people were patting Snape on the back, chuckling, or else thrusting their own untouched Nagini cupcakes onto his plate. This would have annoyed the old Snape, but the new version of himself found that it was a small price to pay to see the smile returned to Hermione's face.

Shaking himself out of his reminiscence, Snape stared again at the empty Firewhisky glass before muttering an incantation to refill it. He would need all the courage he could muster before leading Hermione onto the dance floor. He noticed that she was now partnered by George Weasley, but even as he watched, Draco Malfoy cut in. It seemed that his.._date_…was quite the popular dance partner. For some reason, this brought a scowl back to Snape's face, and he thought that he really ought to go claim her. Surely the evening was winding down soon… Perhaps he would finish just one more Firewhisky before braving the dance floor. He knew without a doubt that she would not allow him to leave for the evening until he had fulfilled her ridiculous request to dance with her.

_You __don__'__t __really __think __it__'__s __ridiculous, _a voice in his head said smugly. _Haven__'__t __you __noticed __how __enticing __she __appears __tonight? _Snape growled at his inner thoughts and was pleased to note that his Firewhisky had refilled without his incantation this time. Indeed, there was no denying – Hermione Granger was no longer a little girl. Ever since the trio had burst back onto the scene, she was carrying herself with a different kind of confidence – confidence that came from knowing one's worth. There was a quiet sort of pride about her now, and Snape thought that her revelations tonight as to the destruction of the Horcruxes certainly must play a part. The three of them had managed the impossible, and survived; if Hermione was still a little too thin, the hunted look in her eyes still a little too present, it did not detract from her appeal.

Downing another Firewhisky, Snape snorted quietly to himself. He should not be considering the _appeal _of anyone, former student or otherwise. Even though Potter had insisted on clearing his name, Snape still felt out of place in a world with no Dumbledore or Voldemort. He had not given his future plans any thought – he supposed he would continue to teach at Hogwarts, given that he felt ill-suited for any other career. He wondered what Hermione's plans were. Now that he thought about it, he distinctly remembered hearing that Potter and the Weasley were planning to train in the Auror Department…but he could not recall whether Hermione's name had been mentioned as well. He made a note to inquire about it – discreetly, of course. It would not do to have the girl – _woman, _he reminded himself – hear of his interest.

As though his thoughts had summoned her, Hermione appeared at their table.

"Whew! I need a rest," she declared, slipping gracefully into her chair and fanning her face with one of Potter's birthday cards. The breeze ruffled her hair, and Snape saw the scar Bellatrix's knife had left on her neck. His fists clenched and he could not contain his anger.

"It should not be allowed!" he barked. Hermione jumped and looked at him, confused.

"I beg your pardon? I merely want to sit down…" but she was staring at him rather intensely. "Are you dr-"

But Snape hardly heard her. "Necks as pretty as yours should not be allowed to be cut by knife-wielding psychopaths," he mumbled. His words surprised a laugh out of her.

"Well, I happen to agree, but I hardly notice it anymore," she informed him. Eyeing him speculatively, she asked, "So…you think my neck is…pretty?"

He nodded, looking forlornly into his glass (which had conveniently refilled itself). "Prettiest neck I know," he stated. She giggled again.


	4. The Dance

Author's Note: I own nothing you recognize. And if I were making money off this, I'd be living in Hogwarts-by-the-Sea in the Caribbean. Chapter 1 was originally intended as a oneshot, but after popular demand and the demands of my own imagination, I am expanding the story. About my Snape character - he is very OOC by now, but since I wanted to write a humor fic, I thought it seemed funniest to have him a little more...unreserved. Also, I loved the idea of Voldemort cake!

Before he could elaborate, though, Potter was standing in front of them, asking a question.

"You want me to – what?" Snape could hardly believe what he was hearing. Perhaps he needed Madam Pomfrey to check his ears.

Harry shrugged, looking embarrassed. "Apparently, it's a piñata – a Muggle party toy," Harry clarified. "I thought maybe…you would like to take the first swing, seeing as how…" but he trailed off at the forbidding look on Snape's face.

"Oh, yes, Severus, I think that would be perfect!" Hermione squealed, clapping her hands together. Reluctantly, he stood, thinking that for someone who did not want to care about other people's feelings, he was spending an awful lot of time this evening attempting to make Hermione happy. He followed Potter to the middle of the dance floor where the "piñata" had been hung.

"Pin-yaaah-taaah," he tested the word out on his tongue. It was rather fun to say. "Pin-YAH-tah…" Hermione hid her smile behind her cup as she took a drink. Just then, Potter handed him one of the bats that the Beaters used in Quidditch. He listened to Potter explain that the goal was to burst the thing open with the stick. Waving off the person trying to blindfold him (what was the purpose of that?), Snape stepped forward and with one mighty swing connected the bat to the piñata.

The head of cake-Voldemort exploded, throwing sweets and confetti everywhere. No one seemed sure how to react.

"That was surprisingly gratifying!" Snape exclaimed, leaning over to give the papier-mâché head of Voldemort another whack for good measure. Then people began to cheer and pick up the sweets. He felt Potter clap him on the shoulder, and when he straightened, Harry shook his hand vigorously. Snape flashed him a silly grin as the band leader announced to the crowd: "Last song, everyone, and then this party's over!"

Hermione turned to him and he knew the time had come. He felt the infernal flutterings in his stomach region again. As she pulled him away from the mangled remains of the piñata, Snape reached out to return the Weasley's high five.

"Oh, dear, just how much Firewhisky did you have tonight?" Hermione giggled at him. "It will be a miracle if you can remain standing for this dance, I think."

"Why?" he asked. "Have I done something I shall regret?" They were standing on the dance floor, facing each other, waiting for the music to begin. The musicians were settling back into their seats from their break.

"Um, no, of course not," she hastened to reassure him, grinning.

"You are just humoring me," he said, and Hermione was shocked to see his lip push outward in a pout. Severus Snape was pouting. Hermione couldn't help it – she laughed.

"Severus Snape, you are full of surprises tonight!" she cried, tossing her hair over her shoulder and moving closer. He smiled down at her, amazed that she had chosen his company over anyone else's. He wondered if it was perhaps an undocumented side effect of Nagini's venom.

"I sincerely doubt that Voldemort's serpent would make its surviving victims more fun to be around," Hermione joked, and Snape realized he must have spoken his thoughts aloud. He endeavored to focus. Just then, the first strains of the music began, and Snape noted with horror that it was a waltz. He had not been prepared to waltz with Hermione. He began to panic as she moved in, settling her arm on his and grasping his hand with hers. Automatically, his hand settled at her waist, and his eyes nearly popped out of his head at the seductive feel of the warm silk. This was going to be impossible unless he distracted them both.

"You look lovely this evening," he murmured, inwardly cursing himself – this topic was hardly conducive to _distracting _him from the sight of her draped in silk. He was rewarded, however, by a blush that crept over her face and down her neck to her chest. _Stop __looking __at __her __chest!_

"Thank you," she answered, looking at him speculatively. "You look quite debonair, yourself." He was taken aback by this, but could see no hint of deception in her features. They began to slowly revolve around the room in time to the music, and Snape was relieved to discover that he could still waltz manageably. He was furthermore impressed when he realized that Hermione was the perfect partner, allowing him to lead her about the floor and mirroring his steps gracefully. He subtly pulled her closer as they brushed past another couple, and he felt the heat radiating from her body to his own. Desperately grasping for something to talk about, his eyes latched on to the surrounding couples, and he began to make observations designed to coax a laugh from her again.

After a few loops around the dance floor, during which they energetically discussed every person they passed, Hermione smiled up at him, remarking, "Why, Severus, I had no idea you were so witty! It must be the Firewhisky."

"Indeed," he agreed. "I would never speak so freely when I am, ah, less indulged."

"Perhaps we should endeavor to get you drunk more often," she teased.

"That would never do, Griss Manger," he stated firmly, and she bit back her smile at his attempt to call her Miss Granger. "The students would never fear me, and that is unacceptable."

"Ah, I see," she said. "Well, I must admit – it will be difficult to sit in your class, listening to you berate my potions, knowing that you are in fact a pleasant and humorous person underneath your cold-" But they had abruptly come to a stop, and Snape was gawking at her.

"My class? Why are you in my class, Grange Misser? You're too old." He seemed genuinely confused, and a little bit afraid.

"Thank you for that," she said sarcastically. "As a matter of fact, I am returning to Hogwarts to complete my seventh year, so I imagine I will be seeing rather a lot of you," she explained.

"Damn!" He ran a hand through his hair, forgetting that it was tied back, leaving it hopelessly tousled. Hermione was looking quite offended. "That is to say…ah…what excellent luck," he lamely tried to amend his outburst. She merely raised an eyebrow at him.

"Yes, well, I think we ought to continue dancing, we seem to be creating a stir by standing here," she pointed out. "Perhaps…we ought to finish in silence?"

Feeling foolish, Snape gave himself a shake and grasped her hand again. As he spun them into the midst of the other dancers, he felt decidedly queasy. He fervently hoped the song would end soon…and yet, the idea of releasing her only served to depress him. Seeming to sense his maudlin turn, Hermione closed the distance between them and rested her cheek against his chest, closing her eyes and humming softly along to the music. _That __is __most __peculiar_, he thought. _The __proximity __of __her __face __has __caused __my __heart __to __speed __up. __Maybe __she __is __wearing __some __sort __of __magical __jewelry. _He blinked, considering this theory.

He felt rather than heard her giggle. "Oh, Severus, you keep speaking your thoughts out loud," she laughed at him. "And I'm not wearing any magical jewelry." Opening her eyes, she pulled her head back to look up at him. Clasped as she was to his chest, Snape was near enough to see the reflection of the fairy lights overhead in her warm brown eyes. He was mesmerized, pure and simple. They slowed to a gentle sway as the band reached the end of the song. Not wanting to let her go, Snape tightened his grip on her as she started to pull away. However, he was less steady on his feet than he had realized.

"Whoa, there!" Hermione had grabbed his shoulder as he began to topple over, settling his arm about her waist to support him. "I think you are in no state to Apparate home tonight, Severus."

"And I think you are too delightful for your own good," he replied earnestly. Hermione's blush returned in full force. "Thank you for not allowing me to make a fool of myself just now," he murmured as he lifted her hand to kiss it.

"Oh – I – you're welcome." She sounded like she was trying to catch her breath. "You're actually quite the charmer, you know. If you behaved this way all the time, why, you'd have half the girls in school in love with you," she rambled before she could stop herself.

"The horror!" Snape raised a hand to his forehead in a mocking swoon. "We could not have that, it would utterly ruin my reputation as an evil bat," he said, nodding wisely. The movement made his vision blur.

A full-bodied laugh seized Hermione, and she began to walk him towards the end of the dance floor. Suddenly, Snape stopped.

"Wait," he commanded, "I still haven't kissed you goodnight." Several people standing nearby turned their heads to stare at this pronouncement.

"Um, really, that's quite alright," Hermione mumbled, mortified.

"No, no, you need kissing," he argued. Hermione's cheeks flamed a bright red. "We agreed that I would be your date, and I have already held your hand and called you Hermione and danced with you and gazed into your eyes like a nargle –" several muffled chuckles could be heard at this, "- and the only thing that is left is to kiss you," he finished, starting to move closer.

Hermione quickly took a step backwards, hissing, "Severus! Control yourself!" But the sudden departure of his crutch caused him to pitch forward, and Hermione only barely caught him.

Professor McGonagall approached the pair, asking if she could help Severus find his way to the dungeon quarters with both eyebrows raised. Hermione responded without thinking: "No, Professor, I'll get him home."


	5. The Kiss

Author's Note: I own nothing you recognize. And if I were making money off this, I'd be living in Hogwarts-by-the-Sea in the Caribbean. This is my first attempt at writing romantical parts, so please comment if you thought it was terrible/horrible/fantastic/weird/not enough/too much!

_No, __Professor, __I__'__ll __get __him __home_, Hermione's inner voice mocked. _What __were __you __thinking? __You __really __are __a __silly __girl! _She did not know what had possessed her to take charge of Snape in such a way, but she felt that she was not ready to end their evening yet. He had been reluctant to come to the party at all, but she had dragged him to it, and she even thought he had begun to enjoy himself. _Yes, __no __doubt __aided __by __half __of __Britain's __supply __of __Firewhisky! _she corrected.

"Er, Severus - what are you doing?" Hermione's alarmed squeak apparently amused him, for he paused in his attempts to trace a finger down her nose to chuckle.

"Your nose," he explained. "It's so small, Mish 'Ranger. Are you quite certain you aren't related to Voldemort?" He laughed uproariously at his own feeble joke. Hermione decided not to be offended, suspecting that Snape, owner of a rather large beak himself, was rather envious of her own...and possibly even envious of Voldemort's non-existent nose. They made their way slowly out of the Great Hall, and Hermione was relieved to notice that Snape was steadier than he had been just a few moments ago. As she steered him towards the hallway to the dungeons, however, he resisted.

"Don't want to sleep there," he said petulantly, gripping her waist more tightly. "It's cold."

Smiling indulgently, Hermione asked him, "Where do you wish to sleep, then?" Snape considered this question, his brows furrowed in concentration. They were standing stock-still in the hallway as the last partygoers passed them, calling out goodbyes. A few stopped to thump Snape on the back or shake his hand. Most seemed to be just as happily woozy as Snape was. Hermione shook her head, thinking that there would be a great many wizards in need of a good Pepper-Up Potion come morning.

Finally, they were the last in the hallway. Suddenly staring intently into her eyes, Snape murmured, "I know exactly where I wish to sleep." Before she could process this delayed response, or the apparent lucidity with which he had uttered it, Snape had wrapped his arms tightly about her and Disapparated them both.

Dizzy from the combined effects of the apparation and Snape's nearness, it took Hermione a few moments to realize that she was standing on the front porch of her own flat in Hogsmeade. Confused, and faintly aware that he had not released her, she looked up at him, narrowing her eyes as she took in the abrupt changes to his demeanor. He was standing quite steadily on his own, and every line of his face was tense with - what? Expectation? Even his eyes no longer held the vague fuzziness of the past hour.

"I don't suppose you're going to tell me that Apparating sobers you up," Hermione said wryly. "Which leads me to believe that you were putting on quite an act at the party."

"Ah, there's the brightest witch of her age," he said, smiling slightly at her to let her know he was not teasing her. Looking serious and apprehensive again, he lowered his head. "I will not inflict my presence upon you any longer if you do not wish it, Hermione," he whispered. "But, if I remember correctly, you did suggest that you would not be opposed were I to kiss you goodnight." His eyes, blacker than ever in the darkness, bored into her own.

Hermione was having trouble breathing. Every inch of her body that was touching his was acutely aware of the contact. Her fingers, so close to the hair tied back into a loosened ponytail, itched to stroke the inky black locks. Her lungs seemed determined to draw breaths so deep that her chest was pressed more firmly to his with each gasping inhalation. Her celebrated brain had evidently deserted her, leaving behind only the sounds of a hundred bees buzzing. It was her own fault, she supposed, provoking Snape as she had when she had cornered him and all but forced him to accompany her. She had always found him intriguing, even back in her school days, and when they had seen him struck down by Nagini, something shifted inside Hermione - from that day forward, she had appreciated him as a woman appreciates a man, not as a schoolgirl awed by her professor. She had spent countless hours at his bedside, encouraging him to recover using nothing more than force of will, and when his eyes had finally opened, she had recognized the truth that had been lurking - she was utterly, completely fascinated and besotted with Severus Snape. A lovesick nargle, indeed!

She blamed Godric Gryffindor for the words that spilled forth in response. "Well, then, I suppose this is goodnight," she purred, a thrill of satisfaction curling through her as she watched his eyes darken impossibly more, victory shining through them. A predatory smile transformed his face and Hermione melted against him, her body begging. Snape seemed to be taking his time, lowering his head imperceptibly, never breaking their eye contact. Hermione thought she might go mad. One hand shot upwards and yanked the tie from his hair at the same moment that Snape suddenly pounced.

His lips landed on hers with a restrained sort of hunger. Hermione shivered and pressed herself closer, winding both hands through his hair and holding him in place. She felt his hands running up and down, all over her, every inch that he could reach. She moaned and angled her head to better kiss him back. She pressed forward incessantly until she had pinned Snape to her front door, and then kept going so that she almost felt as though she was trying to climb up and over him.

Without removing his lips from hers – that would surely be a tragedy – Snape managed to open her door, and they fell inside. Hermione dimly registered that he had managed to unlock, open and then close and re-lock her door without saying a single word or ceasing his hands' exploration of her body before he trapped her against the door, and her thoughts centered once again on their embrace. Sighing in contentment, Hermione slowed her frantic mouth and kissed him more leisurely. Snape followed suit, his lips gently sipping at hers, his hands now slowly stroking a fiery path from her hips to her shoulders and back again. After a few moments, he broke their kiss and pulled his head back to look at her. His hands stilled at her waist.

"I hope," he whispered, and Hermione's body tingled at the husky caliber of his voice, "that was a suitable goodnight kiss, as I would not wish to disappoint you in this most important expectation of your evening."

"Mmm – wonfulstanitwime," she mumbled incoherently. She was too busy examining the intriguing feel of his body pressing hers into her door to pay attention to silly things like words. She tried to tug his lips back to hers, where she intended to keep them forever. A brief, smug smile crossed his face, and then he was pulling her into her sitting room. Hermione was sure she had never pouted quite so dramatically in her life, but she was not pleased with the sudden withdrawal of his magical, magical hands.

Sitting them side-by-side on the couch, Snape asked her, "Now, what was that you were trying to say earlier?"

Hermione blushed and would have avoided the question, but most of her energy was now being diverted into keeping herself from leaping onto his lap and preventing him from talking any more. "Ah, I said it was wonderful, and, um, asked you to stay the night with me," she finished quickly, looking away from his face and finding her gaze caught instead by the interesting situation in his trousers. Embarrassed, she rushed on, "But how inconsiderate of me – you're still feeling the effects of the Firewhisky – I should never have taken advantage –"

But Snape cut her off by placing one long finger on her lips. With his other hand, he grasped her chin and brought her eyes back to his. "While I admit to still feeling rather freer than usual, I am by no means inebriated," Snape said clearly. Hermione started to speak, but he pressed his finger into her lips more firmly. "No – allow me to finish. You are no doubt wondering about my miraculous recovery of my senses in any case. You may as well know, especially if we are to continue to see each other in a – _social_ – manner." Snape drew a breath but did not look away. "During my early days as a Death Eater, I quickly saw the need to seem more uninhibited than I really was. I worked, quite diligently, both at building up a resistance to various intoxicants as well as convincingly pantomiming the effects. Thus I was able to maintain a certain reputation amongst the others while also retaining most, if not all, of my mental faculties. These skills served me well. As for tonight," Snape's eyes took on a smoldering quality, "I will confess that I had counted on your caring nature to help me home, where we could have a private…_conversation_."

Hermione giggled at Snape's idea of a conversation. She supposed mouths _had_been involved, after all, but still…She scooted closer, one leg nudging against his as she turned slightly to face him better. She wondered whether the silk of her dress would enable her to slide onto his legs more easily.

"Before you leap into my lap, Hermione," he growled, "I will warn you not to expect me to always act as I have tonight. Hiding behind the ruse of too much Firewhisky, while allowing me to enjoy myself this evening, shall not become a habit. I would not want any of my acquaintances coming to expect a laughing, dancing, jesting Severus Snape."

Halted in a half-sitting, half-climbing-into-his-lap pose, Hermione sighed. "Yes, yes, of course. Your precious dungeon bat image, I know," she intoned. "Do not worry – your secret is safe with me. Should anyone inquire, I shall merely tell them that you were so distraught at the very idea of attending Harry's party that you were compelled to drown yourself in the strongest drink available, and that you were in no fit state for anything." She rattled off the excuse as though practiced. "Oh, and I shall say that you do not remember a thing, will that suffice?" she asked sarcastically.

"No," he stated, and she was momentarily distracted from her attempt to discreetly slide onto his lap to stare at him disbelievingly. "There are several parts of the evening that I very much wish to remember," he explained, and reaching out, he grabbed her by the waist and swung her across him. "For instance, our second kiss."

"Our second-" but Hermione's question was muffled by Snape's lips on hers once more, and she promptly forgot everything else.

Many hours later, Hermione was awakened by a soft caress on her hip. "Mmm?" she hummed sleepily.

"I wondered whether your expectations for our date included a good morning kiss?" Snape asked, his hair tickling her shoulder as he whispered in her ear.

Rolling over onto her back, Hermione looked up at him, considering. "Well," she said thoughtfully, "as it is not yet time for me to wake up, I believe we are still in the realm of goodnight kisses."

"Is that so?" Snape smiled. "How very interesting. I shall have to make good use of the minutes remaining to us, then," and with that said, Snape made sure to squeeze in as many more goodnight kisses as he could before they rose for the day.


	6. The End

Author's Note: I own nothing you recognize. And if I were making money off this, I'd be living in Hogwarts-by-the-Sea in the Caribbean. This is my first attempt at writing romantical parts, so please comment if you thought it was terrible/horrible/fantastic/weird/not enough/too much!

"I have a proposal for you," Hermione said, slipping into Snape's office a few weeks later. He was at his desk, working on lesson plans for the new term starting in just two days.

"How delightful," Snape drawled, but Hermione saw the telltale quirk of his lips.

She reached the front of his desk and continued around it, coming to rest beside him. He did not look up, but one arm snaked out and wrapped itself around her waist, pulling her closer. Leaning into him, Hermione ran her fingers through his hair and began trailing kisses down the side of his face. Groaning in appreciation, Snape held her at arm's length.

"Well, Miss Granger? Out with your proposal so that we can engage ourselves in other, more entertaining activities," he commanded her.

Smiling, Hermione pushed his papers out of the way and perched on the desk in front of him. She knew she had already won this round when his eyes widened and he licked his lips. "My proposal is that you cease taking points from Gryffindor on a daily basis," she stated, and was pleased to note the way his brow furrowed in confusion.

"I beg your pardon?" he asked, now staring up at her face.

"You heard me," she replied. "You will only take points from Gryffindor when they are deserved – _not _because someone is wearing gray or turning pages too loudly." Hermione cited some of Snape's more ridiculous reasons for taking house points.

His eyes narrowed. "And what, may I ask, is in this arrangement for me?"

"Ah, so Slytherin," she sighed, leaning her elbows back on his desk and watching his eyes lower to her chest, which was now prominently displayed. "But, very well – I will cease to be an insufferable know-it-all," she answered him.

"Tempting, but I find that I shall require something rather more substantial. Gryffindor students are, after all, frequently in need of attitude adjustments." Snape stood and placed his hands on either side of her, caging her in as he leaned forward. Hermione's skin broke out into goosebumps, and her tongue darted out to wet her lips.

"You drive a hard bargain, Professor," Hermione purred, hooking one leg around Snape's and pulling him closer. "Very well – you shall endeavor to tolerate Gryffindor students, myself included, and I shall endeavor to soothe you at the end of the day when they have proven to be most irritating," she offered.

"And if I happen to revert to my old ways and remove points at will?" Snape asked, one eyebrow raised.

"Then I shall have to try to convince you of the error of your ways," Hermione smiled. Snape smiled back as he bent over her, his lips trailing from her ear to her chin.

"I accept," he said softly, and their lips met in a tangle of excitement.

Suddenly, however, Hermione pulled back. "Oh!" she said, shoving at his shoulders so she could sit up. "I nearly forgot – I'm due to meet Harry and Ron for lunch at the Three Broomsticks – I only came here on my way," she said apologetically. Snape sighed and straightened. "But I do have another proposal for you," she added slyly.

"Do tell," Snape said, crossing his arms.

Hermione put the desk between herself and Snape before answering. "Well…I think that we should let people know we are dating. And then I can be seen spending time with you on the grounds, conversing, meeting you for dinner in Hogsmeade…" she edged towards the door as his look became thunderous. "…You know, holding hands, kissing, looking like lovesick nargles?" She had reached the door.

"Hermione…" Snape threatened, but she shook her head.

"Severus, please! There is nothing to hide. I assure you that most of the students are too afraid of you to even consider mentioning it in your presence," she said, now halfway hidden behind the door, only her head and shoulders peeking through.

"Regretful that you are not one such student," Snape said, but without any anger.

Hermione smiled at him. "Ah, yes, but then where would we be?" she asked him. "Certainly not sharing goodnight kisses outside Gryffindor Tow-" She broke off as Snape strode towards her, edging out into the hallway. "Oops, I'm late, so sorry!" she called, hurrying away and giving him a little wave. "But I'm so glad we had this little cha-oomph!"

Hermione's heart was racing as Snape caught up to her and spun her around to face him. "So…you would like for me to make a fool of myself publicly?" he said in a menacing tone.

"Er…yes?" Hermione glanced up at him, attempting to look alluring.

Snape looked past her, then returned his gaze to her face. "Very well," he said simply, and Hermione was confused, but then his lips came down on hers and his arms wound around her, holding her tightly. Sighing, Hermione had just started to kiss him back when she heard twin gasps of shock from behind her. Groaning, she opened her eyes to see Snape smiling ferociously as Harry and Ron stood, immobilized by the sight in front of them.

"Oh, very clever!" Hermione knew her face was flushed. She had not planned on her friends finding out in quite this way, and Snape knew it. She would have to think of a suitable manner of revenge. Pulling back, Hermione blushed even more furiously when Snape gave her derriere a possessive pat. "Alright, Harry, Ron, let's go – I'll tell you everything you want to know on the way," she sighed. She had to physically pull Harry and Ron after her, for they were still frozen in surprise.

"Miss Granger," came a silky voice. She turned to look at him. A slow smile spread across his features as he said, "_I_ have a proposal for _you_: Enjoy your lunch, but know that when you return, you will have to finish what you've just started. There are, after all, a great many people who must find out about us in some manner." The promising glint in his eyes made Hermione's knees weak and left no doubt as to the manner he would prefer. She laughed joyfully as she continued to tug her best friends down the hall, thinking of all the kisses she was likely to receive as they "told" everyone else about their relationship.

Author's Note: Thank you for reading this! It was originally intended as a one-shot in response to a drabble challenge, and it has quite ballooned. This is my first fanfic of any substantial length so I appreciate all your comments and criticisms! I hope you enjoyed it and that it was somewhat believable.


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